Winter Journey

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e adjusted the seat because it was a little low. Though half an hour ago he'd left it just right. No, now it's too high. And it's a little wobbly, see? Damn. Now. No. Yes. He took the handkerchief out of the pocket of his tailcoat and dried the palms of his hands. While he was at it he passed the handkerchief over the spotless keys, as if they were wet from the sweat of other disconcerts. He adjusted his cuffs. Every part of me hurts. My throat is dry, my blood prickles and my heart is about to explode for all kinds of reasons. 1 don't want my hands to shake. To his right, the mortal chill of the audience. He didn't want to look again in case he really hadn't been disoriented when he sneaked a peek at the first rows while taking a bow. Of course he had. Otherwise, he should stop right now. A woman coughed. A man coughed, far away and hard, which reminded him how huge the hall was. It's nothing, to my right there's nothing going on, nothing. Just ice, the enemy, death. The seat, back, just a little.

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